The first book I read was Marguerite Duras The black hair blue eyes in an edition of Galaxia Gutenb

The life and work of Marguerite Duras has aroused fascination with being, in part, the picture of a literary character in excelsis. The writing, Duras, was his life, was life. His biographers, editors; Yann Andréa, the last lover who accompanied her to her death; among countless readers, are figures within a group of followers of the French writer. I was one of those fascinated readers.
The idea of writing this entry on Marguerite Duras arises from reading the quote that opens these paragraphs. The durasiana legend. I find it wonderful tuscan kitchen to think about the work and the literary world of Duras as founders of a legend. Her literature as a mythology. Notebooks blue cabinets contribute to the feeling that endures and continues to work as planting the belief that there is still unpublished work; and we, the witnesses to the legend, we expect that there may be an unfinished novel that will never be finished and will, therefore, infinite. It could have been, forever. Blue lockers strangely evoke a specific place, and yet, are ambiguous, loaded on them an aura of mystery that invisible blanket manuscripts Duras. Will there be more books ?, there will be more fitted tuscan kitchen ?, we wonder.
The first book I read was Marguerite Duras The black hair blue eyes in an edition of Galaxia Gutenberg who brought out from the library of the university, four or five years ago. I read that book in a very sensitive moment, she was in love and had his heart broken, and read every page of that novel and I hope I was sinking deeper into nostalgia; I felt like mourn every few paragraphs. I felt I was reading an epiphany tuscan kitchen of what love was right in the moment ironically believe in love more than ever to be discouraged. Then I continued reading: The outburst tuscan kitchen of Lol V. Stein, The Lover, Emily L., The man sitting in the hall, The evil death, that's tuscan kitchen all, Writing. Then read books Duras meant an act of exoneration. Durasiano world that made me see that we are all vulnerable, and that love was happiness, pain and desire to perpetuate, biting each other every moment.
Blue cabinets made me remember always aroused strong feelings that I read the books of this author. Duras is probably the writer with the most intimate and unique style I have read. Inevitably, reading that style of short and full, deep but light as clouds full of rain, phrases content is known that he has entered a world awash with narrative poetry, silences ever wiser, better told by a comma a point, a separate point.
A year or more ago, when I read the book Notebooks of War (edited by Siruela in 2008), which contains tuscan kitchen unpublished texts and much of the day Marguerite; tuscan kitchen precisely, texts that are part of the notebooks tuscan kitchen he kept in the cupboards, I found a paragraph that showed me, once again, the skill with which Marguerite Duras writes about love and desire. And I quote a paragraph that makes me want to reread blue eyes black hair and whole list of his works.
Upon hearing Elio and lying beside the naked body of Ginetta, I thought about the love of both, not love in time but in space, how this love of Elio had taken root and nourished each day this woman. It was a terrible love that could terrify us because he was always so present, every minute, so this and so definitive that was scary, like it was made for all, because you are forced to believe in love and far from impoverish because you did not live a love like this, away from grieve, did you expect tuscan kitchen love more than I had expected before, tuscan kitchen and you maravillabas (this is the word, I think, be amazed, that is, private stay of reason before a prodigy) that two people, tuscan kitchen a man and a woman, can find each other as total interest, as renewed every day intact, which replaced the one for the other to the whole world. Not that Elio or Ginetta not occupy more than to love: far from it, they are on the contrary people busy in life, absorbed by many different things, tuscan kitchen but they are for each other that springboard from which depart every day , using the momentum to find only one in the other. I will say I was lucky to attend a similar love in a landscape like Bocca di Magra. I think I was lucky.
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